The Only Girl
by missmyers13
Summary: Andrea is the only girl born into the Watson-Holmes family. This is her life with the consulting detective, the army doctor, and the irritating boy genius. This story also has flash backs of her and Hamish growing up. Also, Andrea trying to strike out on her own, it doesn't end well for her. Rated T for later chapters.
1. Andrea Watson Holmes

Chapter One

Present Day

It was a Sunday afternoon at the Watson-Holmes house. My Father, the great Sherlock Holmes, was at the kitchen table typing furiously into his computer, clearly sending an angry letter of correction to the publisher of some online article. My Dad, the equally amazing John Watson, was reading the paper on the couch. I was on the floor reading a textbook and typing up an essay. My older brother, Hamish, was sitting in his chair, playing violin absent-mindedly. The tune was the same over and over again. It was driving me up the wall. He had been doing it for thirty-seven minutes, the same melody over and over again. He did this when he was deep in thought or just trying to irk me. It pissed me off.

"Hamish, do pick another song before my brain leaks out my ears." I requested. I heard my dad make a _here we go again_ sigh. Suddenly, Hamish's violin took a piercing turn as he fiddled out a song he knew I hated.

"Better?" he asked with a devilish smirk. His eyes, they were green currently, were peeking out under his dark curls. He was challenging me.

"Much," I said sarcastically. He played louder and faster.

"How about now?" he said, further prodding me into an argument. He was bored so he was fighting.

"Stop, stop now." I demanded, sitting up.

"Uncultured child!" he shouted.

"I will kill you using your own body against you." I growled.

"Logistically improbable." My Father's voice chimed in.

"Sherlock," my Dad's voice warned.

"Well, look at her. There is no way she could over power him. She is seven and three quarters of an inch shorter and about forty-two pounds lighter. He would clearly come out the winner."

"Small but mighty." My dad said, winking at me. I grinned.

"Small, like you." Father scoffed. Hamish, tall and lankly like Father, smirked. Dad rolled his eyes and I went back to typing. Hamish started playing slowly, another one of his stupid songs he learned at school just to bring home and irritate his family with. Another song he knew I hated. He was trying to be sneaky enough to avoid getting in trouble but obnoxious enough to get under my skin. He was staring at me with an impish grin and dragging his bow deliberately over the strings.

"Stop," I said calmly, trying my best to be the mature one.

"Why?" he asked.

"Now," I demanded.

"What am I doing?" he said lowly, egging me on. He played a high screechy sound that caused both of my parents to look up. I picked up my eraser and launched it at his head. It flew over his shoulder and he threw his head back and laughed. I picked up my textbook and tossed it at him. It landed on his stomach with a thud. It knocked the air out of him. A few seconds later when he recovered he took his bow and prodded me in the arm, poking hard.

"Stop that!" I screeched.

"Andrea, Hamish! That is enough." Dad shouted. We both looked at him.

"Yes, do we need to implement separate corners for you two again?" Father asked. In unison Hamish and I rolled our eyes. He went back to playing, a normal nice song, and I went back to studying. Yes, a normal Sunday in the Watson-Holmes house.

That night we were all invited to Uncle Greg's house for dinner. His wife Susan, second wife I heard somewhere long ago, was making a large supper and wanted to see us kids again. She always cooed over how big we were getting and how it wouldn't be long until her babies were our ages. I always wondered when "you're getting so big" stopped being a compliment. As kids being a "big girl" or "big boy" were compliments. As an almost adult, it was rather insulting. Susan and Greg's children were ten and thirteen. Hamish and I were sixteen and eighteen.

"Alright," my dad said in the car on the way to their house. "Ground rules."

"Always?" Hamish whined.

"Until you stop doing what you do." Dad retorted, looking at him in the rearview mirror. "No deducing anything about them. I mean anything. Don't help the kids with their homework, either. Last time you did you made them cry. This goes for you too, Sherlock." Father huffed, Hamish sulked, and I grinned. "As for you," dad turned his attention to me. "Don't correct them or make snide comments. We get it, you're smart. Leave well enough alone. That one goes for all of you." Dad, satisfied with his job began texting Uncle Greg, telling him we were nearing his house.

The thing Dad said to me wasn't because I was overly excellent at academics. No, that was for Hamish. It was more because I had my Father's attitude problem and couldn't stand grammatical errors. Dad always felt the need to include me in his "public behavior" speech because I had made more than a few people feel uncomfortable in my teenage years. I wasn't the most tactful person in the universe. I blame Father for that. We pulled up into their driveway and piled out of the car. It was cold for September. I wrapped my coat tighter around me. Dad knocked on the door and Susan opened it quickly with a great big smile. She swept Father and Dad into a hug and then moved on to us kids. Hamish and I were not particularly touchy people. He and I both shied away from physical attention, save from our parents or immediate family. The Lestrade's were close but it still made us flinch a little bit. When I pulled back from the hug a bit Dad looked at me, reprimanding, and I hugged back. He nodded and then turned to Greg.

"Great to see you, mate!" Dad said, and clapped Greg on the back. Greg looked at Father and gave him a firm handshake. Greg, knowing we were Sherlock's children, didn't hug us like his wife did. He clapped Hamish on the shoulder and gave me a swift shoulder squeeze. That's what I liked about Uncle Greg. He understood boundaries and didn't push ours. Greg and my Father went further back than even Father and Dad did. I think, once upon a time, Father was an addict and Greg helped him out. No one ever talks about it so I had very little information. Dad and Greg met on a crime scene, the same night Father and Dad met. I had caught word that back then my Father was quite insufferable. I cast a glance towards him. He was standing far from the pack of us, just watching and judging us. Yeah, I could believe he was insufferable at one point.

Jenny and Tyler were watching telly on the sofa. Hamish and I joined them while the adults talked. All four of them transferred to the kitchen to discuss life. Life usually entailed work, crime scenes, investigations, and teenagers. Thirteen year old Jenny had the remote in her hand she was rubbing the buttons mindlessly. Hamish was watching her, probably deducing how she was anxious or worried or stressed. I just thought she was bored and wanted to do something with her hands. Ten year old Tyler was playing a handheld video game, not paying attention to anyone.

"Hey," Jenny greeted, looking at me.

"Hi," I said. "What are you watching?"

"Animal Park."

"Oh, I love that show. It's about the zoo keeper's right?" Hamish asked. Jenny looked up at him and beamed.

"Yeah! I love this show. I just hate that they cancelled it."

"Yeah, that was rough. A show you should check out is _On Safari._It's old but really good. Or at least, I like it."

"I'll look into." Jenny said enthusiastically I looked at her smiling up at my brother. I was doing some deducing of my own. We all sat and watched telly for awhile before we were called to dinner. Hamish left first followed by Tyler who had shut off his game. I was heading to the kitchen when Jenny stopped me.

"You're bother is so cute!" She swooned.

"Yeah…" I said uneasily. He looked just like my Father so I didn't see the attraction. I mean sure, he wasn't bad looking. Dark curls, light eyes, high cheek bones, tall, thin. He looked just like Father. But I guess, to a thirteen year old girl, he was cute.

"You two looking nothing alike." She observed.

"I know." I said simply. Hamish and I were only half biological siblings. We had the same mum, a surrogate we know nothing about. But Hamish was bred from Father's sperm and I from Dad's. They had Hamish and then when he started walking and became toilet trained they realized they wanted another one. Thus, I was brought into the picture. I looked just like dad. Short, blond hair, blue eyes. I was in no genetic way related to Sherlock Holmes and Hamish was in no way genetically connected to John Watson. We were kind of a mash up of DNA with a hyphenated last name. Watson-Holmes. I was proud to be hyphenated, even though it was quite tedious on standardized tests.

At the dinner table conversation was dull, as it usually was at these events. I picked at my carrots as Greg and Father and Dad debated how a case involving a husband killing his wife should have been handled. Dad and Greg were on the same side, saying that Father should have not straight out told the toddler that his mum was dead and his dad was going to be incarcerated for the rest of his life. There was a lull in conversation when Susan piped up.

"So, Hamish. Where are you thinking of going to university? Any thoughts?"

"Umm, perhaps Bristol. Or maybe Dundee. Nothing's final yet." He said with a mouthful of potatoes. I rolled my eyes and groaned a bit. My brother was such a pig.

"Might want to hurry up." Greg said with humor.

"That's what I keep telling him." Father said sternly, looking coldly at his son who rolled his eyes to the ceiling dramatically.

"We are _not_ having this conversation here, Sherlock." Dad warned. "Hamish will make up his mind soon enough and everything will be fine. So, stop. This pork chop is wonderful, Susan."

"Thank you, dear." Susan said, completely ignoring the minor outburst between my men. Father and Hamish frequently butted heads. They were too similar, said my dad. Their minds were too close for them to always get along. Each man thinks he is right and won't back down.

"What about you, Andrea? Any thoughts as to what you want to do in life?" Greg asked.

"I want to go to art school. I am going to be a novelist, painter, sculptor, poet person." I said seriously. Greg laughed, trying to hide it. Under the table Dad patted my knee.

"Well, who would have ever thought that a man like Sherlock Holmes would not only have a daughter but have a daughter who wants to be an artist? I'm sorry, Andrea. Your career isn't funny. Rather, the way your father's life turned out is."

I smiled a little bit at the look of discomfort on my Father's face. He truly did despise my dreams to be an artist. Though, Dad stopped him anytime he tried to talk to me about it. After much small talk the Watson-Holmes gathered their things and left the Lestrade's. We drove in silence for a few miles.

"Thank you for behaving like humans." Dad said easily. Father shot him a look and Dad smiled slightly. They bickered constantly, but it was gentle loving bickering. Sometimes I caught them kissing or hugging away from every one. One time their song was on the radio and Dad dragged Father out of his chair and made him dance. They were happy in a weird subtle way. I think, before Hamish and I were about, they were more romantic. They were married two years before Hamish. I have seen pictures of them on vacations, when Dad could tear Father away from work. A favorite of mine is a picture where Father and Dad are actually smiling at the same time. They were looking at each other, not the camera. They were wearing bee hats and there were bees all around them. It looked dangerous and not a place I would want to be. I loved that picture so much that when I was ten and went to sleep away camp I plucked it out of the picture album and put it in my luggage. I still have that picture folded in half in my wallet. I look at it when I'm sad sometimes.

We drove in silence for awhile longer before Jenny's comment rang in my head. I started giggling and Hamish looked at me.

"What?" he asked.

"Jenny thinks your _soooo_ cute." I laughed. Without missing a beat he responded,

"Well, I am cute." The entire car burst into laughter. Up front I saw Father lace his fingers with Dad's and I smiled. My life as the only girl in the Watson-Holmes household was pretty nice.


	2. Third Winter

Chapter Two

AN: I changed Father to Papa for two reasons. One, I really hate Father. It's too formal and sounds cold and removed. Two, papa sounds sweeter coming from children. That's all. Enjoy.

Winter

Hamish: 5 Andrea: 3

My first real memory I can recall was my third winter. It was the worst winter London had seen in a long time. Schools were shut down, roads were closed, and everyone was advised to stay indoors. Hamish and I were bouncing off the walls and driving our parents insane by the third day of captivity. I remember my Dad trying to play with us as much as possible, switching off with Papa. But by halfway through the second day they realized we were out of games, books, and other intelligent stimuli. Much to Papa's disapproval, Dad turned on a children's channel and let us watch telly. Papa said it turned our brains to mush and he wouldn't have his children walking through life relying on television quotes and foolish reality shows. Dad mostly agreed, except when he and Papa needed alone time or a nap or just wanted to shut their toddlers up for half an hour. That last one happened about twice a month.

We were watching a movie with bright colors and bouncy sounds so Hamish and I were entranced for the moment. From the kitchen table I heard Papa's phone ring at the same time as Dad's. They both pulled their phones out and sighed.

"Lestrade?" Dad asked.

"Mmm, yes. A triple homicide and a missing grandmother and father. Sounds important. And rather interesting. At least a six, seven if the grandma is dead, eight if the father did it."

"Really, Sherlock?" Dad asked, exasperated. "Why is it the more gruesome and heartbreaking the case is the higher up it goes on your interest scale?"

"Because if I wanted to cover petty crimes I would be working with Anderson." He mumbled. Their phones chirped again.

"Shit, he needs us there, now." Dad groaned and looked at us kids. "Can your mother baby-sit?"

"No, what about Harry?" Papa asked, now staring at us kids too. Both of their brows were furrowed, like they were trying to solve a Rubix Cube without thumbs.

"She can't. She and her new girlfriend left for the winter."

"Lucky, them." Papa said sarcastically. "What about Molly?"

"She is taking care of her mother. Mrs. Hudson?"

"She can't handle two children by herself for God knows how long. She's not as young as she once was."

"What about Mycroft?" my Dad asked carefully. Papa shot him a look.

"I guess they are coming with us." Papa suggested. My Dad groaned but my Papa looked oddly excited. I was watching my parent's exchange carefully. The movie had gotten boring and they were far more interesting.

"Sherlock, I really don't think that's a good idea. Hamish and Andrea are sure to have nightmares."

"Hamish needs to understand the circumstances of death anyhow, the sooner the better. I am tired of flushing goldfish into fish heaven. There is clearly no such thing. And Andrea is young enough that her long term memory is not fully developed so the chances of her remembering this are slim."

"What about long term trauma and repressed memories?" my Dad prompted quickly.

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Everyone needs therapy anyways. Especially our children. This will just be another session."

"I cannot believe you just said that." My Dad grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Seriously, you think this is a good idea?"

"I think this is the only idea we have left. Besides, John, you and I are just as bored as the children. This is the first case in weeks. We must take it or I will go stir crazy."

"Fine, but you are paying for therapy." My Dad said. Papa stood and kissed his husband on the head.

"Mycroft will handle it." He winked.

Twenty minutes later Hamish and I were bundled in snowsuits, mittens, hats, scarves, and boots. We looked like walking puffballs. We were strapped into our respective car seats and headed to our first crime scene. I remember being excited, though I didn't know why. Hamish was babbling on and on about something he saw on television and my Dad was pretending to listen while looking for the clearest streets on his phone application. Papa, who was driving, was nearly bouncing from anticipation. The entire car was a buzz with energy and I felt it too. I remember smiling the whole way there.

When we got to the house where the murder was Papa got out first and took Hamish out of his seat. He whispered something to him and Hamish grinned. Papa took Hamish by his mittened hand and led him towards the house. Dad gathered me up and propped me on his hip.

"How's my girl?" he asked.

"Cold. It's cold." I said. "Why is it cold?"

"It's winter and the snow makes it cold."

"What is snow?" I asked, looking at the white ground. I obviously knew what snow was but I wanted to know what made snow.

"Frozen water. It's like rain but it gets very cold when it comes from the sky." He explained. I nodded.

"Can I make an angel?" I asked, looking at the ground again. The snow was so white and pillowy I just wanted to lie down and roll around in it.

"Maybe later, sweetheart." He kissed me on the cheek and we began walking towards the house where Hamish and Papa were standing. Papa was having a heated argument with Uncle Greg.

"Sherlock I cannot let children in on a crime scene. Even your, no, _especially _your children." He said sternly.

"What do you mean _especially _my children?" Sherlock snapped.

"They will probably find it fascinating and start demeaning my crew." He chuckled so I think he meant it to be funny, but my parents weren't laughing. His face sobered up and he went back to Work Greg not Uncle Greg. "What if they touch the evidence or move things. I can't risk it. Not on a case like this. Go take them to Donavon, she isn't doing anything currently." He pointed to a lady with frizzy hair and a sour expression. Dad rearranged me on his hip and looked at Papa, then down at Hamish who was trying to look in the house.

"Come on, Sherlock. We let her watch the kids or we go home." Dad reasoned. I watched Papa's face shift into an expression Hamish often wore when he didn't get his way. Papa tugged Hamish along and my Dad carried me to the strange lady.

"Sally, Lestrade needs you to watch the kids while Sherlock and I poke around. Do you mind?" My Dad asked gently.

"Actually, yes. I don't watch kids. I am a detective not a babysitter. I don't really like kids anyways." she said bitterly. Looking down at Hamish and up at me. Her lip curled and I wrapped both arms around Dad's neck, removing my face from hers.

"Donavon, you watch our children or this case goes cold. What do you want?" Papa said evenly, but his tone was frozen like the snow.

"Fine freak, I'll watch your kids for twenty minutes." She bit off. I wanted Hamish to kick her in the leg for being mean. I knew I was too small to make an impact.

"If anything happens to my children it will be the end of you." Papa growled and handed Hamish over. Dad kissed me on the cheek again.

"Be a good girl." He said to me and handed me over to Sally. I heard Papa say to Hamish "give her hell". Dad must have heard it too because he glared at his husband. Sally held me awkwardly and as far from her body as she could while still supporting me on her hip. It was weird for both of us. Hamish was looking up at us with a scowl and crossed arms. His dark curls were sticking out from under his hat and his light eyes were narrowed. He made his disapproval clear.

"You shouldn't say mean words." He said with as much anger as a five year old could muster.

"Yeah," I agreed. Sally groaned and rolled her eyes.

"I hate my life." She mumbled.

Eventually it got too cold for us to be outside. Dad came out to check on us and put us in the car with our DVD player and the heat on. Sally sat in the front seat mostly ignoring us on her phone. I took off my hat and my long blonde hair was sticking up every which way. I pulled off my mittens too. Hamish did the same.

"Where is Daddy?" I asked Sally when an hour had gone past and I was getting hungry.

"Looking at dead people, stupid." Hamish said.

"I'm not stupid! You're stupid!" I said in return. Hamish must have been hungry too. He always got moody when his tummy was empty.

"Knock it off!" Sally said angrily.

"I'm hungry." I whined.

"Me too." Hamish joined in.

"What do you want me to do about that?" Sally asked. She was challenging a toddler and a kindergartener. She was about to lose.

"I dunno." Hamish shrugged and looked at his boots. I was too hot in my snowsuit, I was bored, I was hungry, Hamish was being mean, I didn't like Sally, and I missed my parents. I started to cry and Sally's eyes got wide and panicked.

"Stop, stop, shh, it's okay." She said, trying to be comforting. It wasn't working. I just cried harder. Hamish looked at me with wide eyes.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked Sally over my wails.

"Hell, if I know." She muttered and picked up her phone.

"I want Daddy and Papa!" I moaned helplessly. At three years old all those emotions at once make you confused and you just want to sob forever.

"I do too, but I'm not crying!" Hamish shouted.

"That's because you're a stupid boy!" I yelled. Hamish crossed his arms and turned his body away from me. Up front I could hear Sally talking on her phone.

"Greg, the girl won't stop crying. I don't know what to do." She said quickly. Within a minute I was in my Papas arms. He was holding me tight and shushing in my in ear. I had my arms around his neck and was crying into his suit shoulder. He didn't seem to care.

"What's wrong, Andrea?" He asked.

"I'm hungry and Sally and Hamish are mean." I whined. I saw a flicker of a smile on his lips. His eyes shifted towards Sally and his pouting son.

"What do you want to eat?" Papa asked me.

"I dunno." I whined.

"I can't help you if you don't know what you want." He said sternly.

"Goldfish." I said quietly. He actually did smile this time. Dad came up behind us. Standing next to Papa and I he looked absolutely tiny.

"What's going on?" Dad asked.

"Temper tantrum induced from hunger and Donavon. They haven't eaten since lunchtime. We need to feed them so I can get some work done tonight." Papa said quickly. He took me back to the car and buckled me into my seat. Dad talked to Hamish and got him to smile. He buckled my brother in and got into the car himself. Papa was outside talking to Sally, he looked angry. She looked bored. When Papa got in the car he said something quietly to Dad. Dad chuckled and kissed Papa on the temple. We drove home, ate dinner, and played quietly while Papa was working in the kitchen and Dad was helping him as best he could.

Papa worked on his cases and projects a lot. At times he wouldn't talk for hours. Just looking at his microscope or computer or thousands of scribbled in notebooks. Dad wouldn't talk to his husband much during cases. That was the funny thing about their relationship. Both men were so fiercely independent in their own lives that they forgot to need each other until night came and things slowed down. Dad would work in surgery all day, Papa would work on his cases, and us kids would be at our respective schools. But at night they would take us upstairs to our shared bedroom, tuck us in, and read us stories until we fell asleep. Dad and Papa never missed a bedtime at home.

That was the wonderful thing about growing up in the Watson-Holmes family, we always stuck together. Neither of my parents came from very stable households so they wanted to give their kids something different and safer. My first memory was confusing but so crystal clear that sometimes I considered it just being something my brain made up in a dream. But, it was too real to be a dream. I kept that memory to myself for years because sometimes it is nice to have something just to your self. Something you don't have to share with anyone. Something people can't judge and try to fix it with their own details. Over the years, Hamish and I went on several more cases but we never went inside the scene, we just got to watch the excitement from our parents and the quizzical looks from everyone else who questioned how our family functioned. The case was solved in under a week, the schools reopened, and life on Baker Street was the same as ever.


End file.
